


Dr. Gregorovic's Cookbook

by VodkanCranberryJuice



Category: Runescape
Genre: Gen, Greg Eatin' People, Most likely disturbing., Possibly disturbing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 22:30:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13750536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VodkanCranberryJuice/pseuds/VodkanCranberryJuice
Summary: Dr. Gregorovic is something of a food critic. He's been around long enough to know what he likes to eat, and how he likes it.





	Dr. Gregorovic's Cookbook

The good doctor was not always what most would consider a sadist. That wasn't to say he never caused pain, far from it. It was part of the job, but he only ever hurt others for the sake of important scientific research and experimentation. You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, as they say. He broke a great many eggs, but he made a great many omelets. At least if eggs are people and omelets are medical breakthroughs, which, admittedly, they often are not. While not all of his experiments bore fruit (it turns out that giving pregnant women rubella does not tend to have a positive influence on the unborn babe), and not all of his research led to something useful (if one twin is exposed to and successfully overcomes a disease, the other twin is still able to fall ill with that disease), he never took pleasure from the discomfort he caused, nor did he shy away from causing it, when it needed to happen.

 

After his transformation, his outlook on life changed a little, as did his diet. His research turned from medicine to discovering subtle differences in the flavors of all regions of the world, and all the wonderful things that emotions like fear or sensations like pain can add to those flavors. The people of Morytania, for example, taste of mud and reed, like the swamp has been trapped in their flesh. Consequently, he is not fond of Morytanians as they are; he prefers them with a liberal helping of fear. Fear is like a spice, concealing the taste of the swamp while bringing out the salt of the northern and eastern seas, and the bitter smokiness from the torches and firepits that ease some of the chill of that frigid land. Morytanians, fortunately, are quite easy to frighten. They live in a state of near perpetual fear already, what with the vampires and the werewolves, and just a cackle or strategically snapped branches are sufficient to quicken their hearts and make juicy their meat.

 

Misthalinians are simple people, usually, though he admits he’s not had the delight of dining with a citizen of Varrock; he avoids large cities as a rule, preferring to lurk in the shadows of small towns or out of sight in rural areas. The farmers of Misthalin have a rich, meaty, salty taste that’s fine on its own, but he prefers younger specimens. The children of the farmers of Misthalin have a more mild taste than their parents, but are also more tender, and are much easier to snatch up and carry away. While it’s not necessarily populated solely by Misthalinians, the good doctor recommends the Wizard’s Tower south of Draynor Village; confident, powerful young wizards often walk off in pairs, frequently at night, and usually out of earshot of the other denizens of the tower. They make for excellent dining.

 

Asgarnia is a different table altogether. The dwarves in the mines are little more than an appetizer to his voracious appetite, and they’re far more effort than they’re worth. He can’t even giggle in the tunnels and caverns which they make their home, or the echoes alert them to his presence, and then out come the cannons. Falador is not worth his time either - it’s never really dark in that city, and the White Knights are far too watchful,  though he eagerly awaits his chance to sample a Temple Knight. Truthfully, the best dining opportunities may be found in Port Sarim - the port attracts exotic flavors, all steeped in the salt of the sea and whatever’s on tap at the Rusty Anchor. It’s something of a rough place, besides, so a few terrified screams are usually overlooked, if they can even be heard over the bellowing in the tavern. This allows a certain souring to occur as his prey settles comfortably into hopelessness, knowing they won’t be saved from their fate. The drunken sailor’s sea shanties are also a wonderful accompaniment to his dinner, though they have no idea what sort of beast hums along to their refrains.

 

Heading south to the sun-whipped Kharidian desert, not Al-Kharid south but _souther_ , you find Pollnivneach. In Pollnivneach, at night, he lurks on the shadow-dappled outskirts, waiting for silk-wrapped morsels to come to him, or else he’s stalking merchant caravans through the shifting dunes, leaving their cargo to be buried by wind-shoveled sand. The people of the Kharidian Desert have tough skin and tough meat; it’s necessary to live in such a punishing place, and even the younger ones lack the same tenderness of Misthalinian youth. They’re brittle, dry shrubs compared to the soft green shoots of the north. Really, the best way to loosen them up is to inflict pain. He prefers to slice up the face a little, or a lot, and rasp the wounds with his tongue to worsen their agony. Ready to eat in no time at all. Just do it in the wilds, far from civilization, as the main course tends to scream.

 

Oh, but Tirannwn. No place in Gielinor can compare to beautiful, sumptuous Tirannwn. The blessed people of Seren sing to his palette just as they sing to their crystal goddess. Besides their delectable taste and the power he gains from them, there’s a special place in his clockwork heart for the elves. Years past, he had dissected them to discover the secret to their long lives. In present day, he dissects them to make them scream symphonies for him, and to make the crystal they carry resonate in sympathy and terror. He wonders if Seren knows he tortures and consumes her elves. Perhaps, one day, she’ll come and try to stop him, and then Dr. Gregorovic will dine with the gods.

**Author's Note:**

> If Falador's White Knights are White Knights, is Gregorovic a Wight Knight?


End file.
